


Mid-Day Musings of an (Un)Lucky Guy

by SeasonalDepression_WithASideOfFries



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Freeform, M/M, Makoto does questionable things but like Nagito is dtf, Unhealthy Relationships, anyway here you go, but just doesn't know wtf is going on either, everyone confused, existing i suppose, i guess i don't know, idk if this even qualifies and hurt/comfort or angst its just like, really up to you honestly, sorta????, that's it thats basically it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasonalDepression_WithASideOfFries/pseuds/SeasonalDepression_WithASideOfFries
Summary: Makoto needs a healthier coping mechanism.
Relationships: Komaeda Nagito/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Mid-Day Musings of an (Un)Lucky Guy

**Author's Note:**

> _*Looks at unfinished Komaegi smut that's been chillin' in my files for over a month.*_  
>  So anyway I wrote this at 5am.

There wasn’t a point where he suddenly realized his desires.

There was no “Oh.” moment where in the puzzle pieces fell into place. No click told him what was going on. It was a slow coil being wound up inside. With every weekly check in they had the coil would tighten, and it would leave Makoto on edge. Waiting. For something. Something that kept his leg from being still. The rhythmic bouncing replicating Makoto’s own mind.

There wasn’t anything in particular that caught his eye about Nagito.

The taller boy had striking features, yes, but that wasn’t it. Makoto was being pulled in by reasons he, himself, couldn’t quite pin down. Was it their similarities? They were survivors of a killing game, had an almost unnatural attachment to hope, and questionable influences of luck--things that could be used in conversation to establish some sort of camaraderie. But that wasn’t it either. Not entirely. Makoto knew his attachment to Nagito layed rooted in something else. Was it because Nagito was an outsider? Someone outside of his dwindled group of friends? The friends he felt compelled to uphold whatever high standing they had of him as a beacon of positivity (because they really needed some form of that)? Was Nagito a stranger he felt he could release himself upon with no worries of any long term impact to their relationship?

Because what was Nagito to him really?

He was a recovery patient. He was the guy Makoto would meet up with to help ease him back into socialization and self-assuredness. If anything, what was happening was more akin to malpractice.

Makoto couldn’t be sure to say that he and Nagito were friends before then. Acquainted. On good terms, he’d like to think. But not exactly friends. They hadn’t really had the chance.

Now, he wasn’t quite sure if they would. They were something else altogether, and he still was unsure of what it was. The closest description would be lovers, he supposes. But that somehow felt too illicit and sentimental at the same time. Makoto was sure he was using Nagito to an extent. He would never push himself on him, no, but it’s not like Makoto wasn’t aware of Nagito’s infatuation with his SHSL Hope title. Anyone would easily guess the older luckster as the one most willing to indulge Makoto in whatever he so desired. And perhaps that’s what this was.

Indulgence.

Was that what Makoto had in mind that fateful afternoon? He wasn’t quite sure why he made the excuse to visit Nagito’s holding cell. Their weekly meetings never fell on a Wednesday. But he saw Kyouko preparing to bring Nagito his daily medication, and before he processed his next move he had already told her that Munakata was requesting her presence. He had registered his set time limit. She’d figure out his lie, yet his brisk walk to Nagito’s locked room, medication tray in hand, played no notice to any building anxiety in him.

A look of surprise and something else (curiosity? anticipation?) flashed upon the taller boy’s face when the break of the pattern was marked by Makoto’s all too familiar being closing the cell’s door behind him. Things remained unspoken and eyes locked in contact as Makoto handed Nagito his pills. Their study of each other was cut when the older boy began to take his prescription. With the medication ingested and the tray serving little purpose now, Nagito opted to keep his eyes downcasted while Makoto continued to stare. They remained there in silence afterwards--Nagito leaning against the wall on his bed and Makoto standing in front of him. The white haired boy made the choice to get up--testing unsure waters they both were treading.

“I’ll open the door for you.”

A completely unnecessary thing to do. Makoto was more than capable of escorting himself out. He didn’t need Nagito’s permission to leave. But it was an excuse for Nagito to pass by him. An invitation--or rather a question of what Makoto wanted. So when the shorter boy grabbed Nagito’s passing arm with simply a “Komaeda-kun.”, Nagito only paused for a few seconds before facing his caller’s direction. It was Makoto’s turn to avoid eye contact. His eyes were too preoccupied taking in every detail of the bed to afford his mind the ability to form any other words. His grip, however, was firm. Metallic fingers wrung open his grasp only to then turn him with a gentle and compelling push of his shoulders to face the ex-remnant. He saw all of Nagito’s features--eyes, nose, lips--as separate and as a whole. Makoto’s back layed flush against the wall, and he realized they had been moving. The presence of two hands on both sides of his head, palms just as flush on the wall as he was, brought his heart rate up.

Something was building. No, it was about to explode. “Naegi-kun…” There. It’s there. He feels it. “...what?” And it really sounds more like a statement that Nagito asks. A raspy hushed tone that demanded something from him. An eruption. A floodgate of several emotions seeped out from his lips to crush Nagito’s into his own. Makoto’s firm grip was back around the white-haired boy’s collar. Sloppy kisses accompanied the sounds of their labored breath. Labored from the tension that was now obliterated as tongues began to explore unknown caverns. Makoto could have been lost in this euphoria--and he was for what felt like decades in minutes. But a break for air grounded him enough to realize the dangerous line he was walking on. It wouldn’t be long before high heels began tapping in their direction. There was no time for a discussion of where their relationship lied. Not with the risk of never having another opportunity like this again. So he pushed Nagito off enough to squeeze by and promptly went out the door. There was a click--the lock back in place as brisk footsteps retraced their steps back to a lone office hall.

Later, he would be aware of Kyouko’s lingering glances at him. A question that occupied her eye the way it always did when she knew something was amiss. But he didn’t leave much evidence other than Nagito’s bruised, red lips that he hoped had returned to a somewhat normal shade before she checked in at his cell. To keep her (and everyone) searching, Makoto’s eruptuous moments with Nagito have to be brisk. And perhaps, they’ll never have time to talk about what’s going on. And Makoto thinks, maybe that’s for the best.


End file.
